Le Fantome
by Schadenfreudessa
Summary: A retelling of Gaston Leroux's "Le Fantôme de l'Opéra" where Loki is a much sassier Christine Daae, Tony is the smart-assed Opera Ghost, Bruce is the only living person who knows Tony's past (except the man himself), and Thor is just poor little Viscount who wants his brother back.
1. Dedication

Found amongst the papers of the late S.L. Mohr, Professor of Contemporary Archeology and History, Devoted Mother and Beloved Wife.

Published with love by her brothers R.P. & K.D. Carlucci.

Publication Date: 22.04.2045

* * *

It might seem odd to hear from a Professor of History, but the Opera Ghost of the Paris Opera House, the creature of folklore and urban mythology, really existed. His name was Tony.

He was not, as most believed, a creation from the imaginations of junkie artists or overworked managers, half-starving dancers or superstitious stage-hands, ushers or coat-room attendants or any of the concierge. For while he wore the guise of a true phantom, he was flesh and blood like any other, though with perhaps a bit more metal than is normal.

When I first started to dig through the many archives of Paris - and also the many websites surrounding the ghost tales - I was immediately took note of the coincidences between the phenomena ascribe to the Opera Ghost and one of the most complex and fantastic tragedies to ever occur in Paris, or possibly even Europe. The mysterious events took place just over 30 years ago; it wouldn't be difficult for any to find witnesses who have lived to the present day, men and women of respectable backgrounds and whose word can be relied upon, who would remember the dramatics surround the kidnapping of one Loki Laufeyson, or the disappearance of his brother, Viscount Odinson. They could even recall it from the very beginning, with the body of an Opera patron found hanging in the third basement. But not a single witness had, until that day I questioned them, thought to connect these things with the legends of the Opera Ghost.

At first, this theory was slow in developing, as the abilities and events attributed to the ghost seemed beyond superhuman, complicating the tale into something not unlike a puzzle. I was very near to abandoning this project when an unexpected blessing knocked on my door, appearing in the form of of a kindly man with soft eyes hiding behind glasses and a she smile. He claimed to have heard of my investigations and was more than willing to offer his services. I accepted, having no other leads or ideas, but it wasn't until this man was sitting in my living room and sipping tea that I realized how fortunate I was.

The man who was sitting before me claimed himself as the infamous Doctor Bruce Banner, a man whose story was as strange and mysterious as the Opera Ghost's himself. And for good reason, too. Banner - or the Doctor, as most of the tales name him - is supposed to be the Opera Ghost's only friend, if friend is indeed an accurate description. From what I learned directly from the man himself, I would say that perhaps they were more as brothers than anything, but while the ghost stayed in the shadows, Banner blended innocuously into the crowds. But that they knew each other intimately was of no doubt.

Of course, I found this to be much too lucky and far too good to be true. But the Doctor was patient in explaining himself to me, and when he had told me, with soft-spoken earnestness, all that he felt comfortable in sharing about the ghost, I was more receptive. And then he handed me a treasure's worth of knowledge - a stack of papers that contained all the proof I could need, including correspondences between the Opera Ghost and Loki Laufeyson himself! That he would given them so freely, to do with as I please, was also suspicious, but I was delighted. I no longer held doubts that the ghost was just a myth.

It was with these papers, proven true by handwriting comparisons, that I finally visited the ghost's domain myself, exploring the grand majesty of the Parisian Opera House. Everything there only corroborated what the papers told me, firmly cementing my belief, from the narrow stretches of catwalks to the twists, turns, and secret ways of the cellars. It was so true to the stories I knew by heart now that I could almost hear the silken glide of a phantom's steps through the walls.

So it is now with excitement that I can share what I have proven to be the true events behind a mystery near 30 years unsolved - the tale of Loki Laufeyson, Viscount Thor Odinson, and the Phantom of the Opera.


	2. Is It the Ghost?

The beginning of it all is at the retirement party of one M. Farbauti, manager of the Opera for nearly eight years at the time. It was to be a last gala performance that would mark the end of his reign with excitement, feasting, and dancing of the highest caliber. As such, the press of the age were covering it in great detail, but also as discretely as possible - cameras were sparsely but strategically placed to cover the entire foyer, though they were forbidden from the more private areas. Farbauti himself had wanted to turn away the cameramen - he was not overly fond of the limelight, in fact he seemed to fear it - but the decision was taken from him by his replacement. Because the party was also to celebrate the arrival of the new manager, M. Nicholas Fury, and he was not at all afraid to play the media. And as this would be all the Opera's very best turned out, he saw no reason to waste such a perfect opportunity to flaunt.

At the moment, however, our attention should be on the dressing room of Maria Hill, one of the principal dancers and a transfer from the sister Opera House in New York City. Given her status, it was a rather large suite of rooms, but she had the whole of them entirely to herself so she could primp and practice her speech in comfort and silence. Until a herd of half-crazed young dancers clambered in, nearly a dozen young girls just coming from the stage after 'dancing' Polyeucte.

They all poured in with considerable confusion, pockets of forced and uncomfortable laughter springing up amongst them. Annoyed, Maria made attempts to shoo them away, but they were to no effect; the girls all scrambling about in panic were oblivious to their mother-figure's displeasure. When it became apparent that there was nothing to be done, however, Maria set aside her speech with a sigh, turning to the oldest girl in the group - little Pepper, with pale freckled skin and thin lips.

"What is this ridiculousness about, girl?", Maria barked, diverting the girls from their fretting.

"It's the ghost!" Pepper answered with a trembling voice. Finally, it seemed that the adreneline and blind panic were draining from the dancers, as they all quieted immediately. Pepper, still the center of attention, seemed to swoon, collapsing into a chair as her legs gave out.

"Outrageous", Maria returned, though without as much heat as she normally would and a shudder slipping down her spine. She wasn't an overly superstitious woman, but the Opera ghost was a phantom that she couldn't help but believe in. "You let the shadows scare you too easily".

"No! I saw him just as plainly as I see you now, Miss Maria!" Pepper insisted. "We all did!"

There was a chorus of agreement from the assembled group, with one calling out, "And a very ugly ghost he is!". And then they all began to talk over one another. Maria, doing her utmost to piece together the story, gathered that the ghost had appeared in the shape of a man dressed in formal wear - slim cut trousers, a black waistcoat and a deep red shirt underneath, all with the eerie blue glow that every witness had appeared suddenly, standing before them in the passageway without any signs of where he came from, and the he left just as strangely, seeming to disappear into a wall.

"Don't be stupid!", one of the girls called out - her name was Natasha, one of Coulson's wards and with a personality as fierce as her red hair. "You all see the ghost at every corner!"

There was no doubt about that; the ghost had been the center of gossip at the Opera for several months now, haunting the employees thoughts like he haunted the halls - stalking through the shadows like he belonged there, spoke to nobody and was spoken to by nobody, and vanishing as soon as he was seen.

It had started as laughter and jokes, teases about a man of arrogant gait who dressed in fine clothes with casual disarray. Not long later, the tale had swollen to outrageous proportions both in and out of the Opera, spawning wikis and webpages, and there were even attempts by media teams to investigate the undergrounds of the Opera. Farbauti quickly brushed aside all of these, and cautioned the dancers to keep their whispers to themselves, as no outside interference would be welcome in his Opera. So while the media interest died away, the stories of the Opera ghost were still shared by the employees, and even if he was never seen, his presence was always commented upon. If anyone fell or was hurt, if there was ever a prank played, if a phone or tablet ever malfunctioned, or something personal went missing, it was the Opera's Phantom at play.

After all, who could claim to see him. Yes, you can meet many men in many different shades and styles of formal wear while at the Opera, but they will not be ghosts. For if the dancers and crew are to be believed, the ghost is not a man but a skeleton masquerading as one, hiding behind suits and a mask like death's face.

Only one outsider had ever claimed to have seen the phantom, and it was with him that the description of a skeleton came. A thin and weasely man - a desperate fool chasing some rumor of technologic genius into the secrets of the Opera - had wandered too far into the depths, where cellar and storage became dank catacomb. The man - a failing businessman named Hammer - was too serious and pathetic to imagine something as spectacular as an Opera ghost, even with the entirety of the internet at hand. And so his words were taken as truth, and the the faceless phantom was given a form.

The more sensible people wrote it all off as a joke played on the terrified man, who was universally despised both in and out of the Opera - especially in, where his lewd behavior while chasing the young dancers was grossly inappropriate. But his story was quickly followed up by other ones, each more inexplicable than the last. It left a general shroud of unease over everyone in the Opera.

In each sighting of the ghost, the descriptions differed rather seriously. While this should have discouraged the ballet-girls and their tales, they merely justified it with that the ghost had a collection of heads that he changed as he pleased. It wasn't long before things were so disastrously out of hand that Maria had stopped commenting on the small lines of salt at the doorway and window sills of the younger girls dormitory. M. Farbauti also allowed the employees to carry around small charms of iron and coral as wards against any supernatural evils, though he never addressed this out loud.

Claims were that it helped little, but who can stop a ghost from wandering where it will?

To return to the evening as it was, however:

"It's the ghost!" little Pepper had cried as a sound out in the corridor drew all their attention. She threw herself against the wall, ear pressed to it as her face was even paler with real terror. And though silence reigned in the heavy atmosphere of the room, she still hissed, "Listen!"

It was a noise not unlike the rustling of silk against the door's paneling, as if an impatient guest was fidgeting out there. Then the noise stopped, but there were no footsteps or knocking or any human sounds.

Maria, not so easily cowed even in fear, approached the door with only minimal hesitation. In a voice that shook for a moment, she called out, "Who's there?"

It was no shock that nobody answered. Frustrated doubly now - she had not only been interrupted while working, but only because of the foolishness of teenage girls - Maria wasted no more time in grabbing the handle and flinging the door open. All the dancing girls jumped back and squealed in unabashed terror - all except one, that is. Natasha showed no fear, standing solidly at Maria's side with a small knife in hand - none could say where she had gotten it from, and Maria hoped that she hadn't been hiding it in her costume for all the dances.

There was no one at the door, however, and there was no one when she peered cautiously out, passageway was empty; there was a stage light casting a red and foreboding light into the surrounding darkness, but it wasn't successful in dispelling it at all. So sighing, Maria slammed the door shut, turning angrily to the girls who had disturbed her.

"There isn't anyone out there", she said as Natasha hid the blade in the folds of her costume.

"But he was there! We saw him!", Pepper protested, standing timidly between Maria and the ballet-girls. "He is still out there prowling about, I'm sure, and I'm not going back to dress while he is! I think we should just go down together in our costumes, and then we can all come back up the same way".

"Oh pull yourselves together, girls", Maria interrupted unhappily, already tired of this ghost talk. "I'm sure that not one of you saw a ghost. It was your imaginations run loose".

"We really did see him though, Miss Maria", one of the other girls cried. "He had the same death's head and tuxedo suit, just like Hammer saw him!"

"And Phil has seen him too!", Pepper cut in. "Just yesterday afternoon and in broad daylight!"

"Who?", the same girl as before asked.

"Phil! The choreographer!" spat back, unhappy that her story was interrupted. When understanding didn't dawn on many of the assembled, she explained, "Couslon!"

"Wait, Coulson saw the ghost?"

"Yes!"

"And he was wearing his dress suit in broad daylight?"

"Who? Phil?"

"No, the ghost!"

"Of course! Phil told me so himself. He likes to tell me about his day", Pepper said so smugly it left no doubt that she was harboring a girlish crush on their choreographer. "He was in his office when the door opened and the Doctor entered. You know him - the Doctor with the demon's eye-"

The ballet-girls reacted in chorus, warding off ill-will by making a sign of the cross, or something equally religious. Natasha rolled her eyes and folded her arms. Maria watched on, mildly amused. She had spoken with the Doctor before and thought only good of him.

"You know how sensible Phil is", continued Pepper, "and always so polite. When the Doctor appeared in the doorway, the two spoke briefly, though he thought the Doctor might have been trying to subtly lead him away from the office. Eventually, Coulson took his leave, but he had left the latest score in the office and quickly returned. There, he saw the Doctor still in the doorway, but behind him stood the Opera ghost with Death's head!"

"Coulson told you no such thing", spoke up an angry Natasha, still at Maria's side. "Coulson doesn't tell stories, especially about the ghost, and especially not to you! You are a stupid girl and you should hold your tongue, just like that Hammer should of!"

"Why should they shut up?" questioned Peggy as attention shifted to Natasha, who was only now realizing how much she had revealed in anger.

"That is what Coulson says", she replied, lowering her voice darkly, as if with that alone she could kill the natural curiosity of silly little dancers.

"And why does Coulson think that?"

"Hush! He says the ghost doesn't like to be spoken of".

"And why would he say so?"

"Because", Natasha growled, having talked herself into a corner. "Because it is no business of yours!"

But Natasha's resistance only exasperated her fellow dancers, who crowded tightly around the redhead and began begging and pressing for an explanation. They were all standing closely side by side, leaning forward simultaneously in one movement and creating an entity of fear and gossiping entreaty that threatened to overwhelm Natasha.

"Get off it! I won't tell!" she cried at them all.

But they wouldn't stop until her secret was theirs, dropping promises of silence for Natasha's cooperation with no hesitation. Against better judgement, she snapped at them, speaking with her eyes fixed on the door as if Coulson or something worse could burst in at any moment, "Well, it's because of the private box".

The group backed off, mild curiosity overtaking a vicious need for gossip fodder. "What private box?"

"The ghost's box".

"The ghost has a box? Come on, tell us!"

"Not so loud!" said Natahsa, hissing. "Should Coulson hear, I won't say a word".

When the clamoring died down, she continued. "It is Box Five. You know, the box on the grand tier, next to the stage-box on the left".

"Now you are being silly!"

"I'm telling the truth! Coulson himself is in charge of it for that very reason, as none of the box-keepers will work with a ghost. No one has had it since the Opera's building years ago, and orders have been given at the box-office that it must never be sold".

"And does the ghost really come there?"

"Yes".

"Then Coulson has seen him?"

"No, the ghost comes, but there is nobody to see".

The ballet-girls all shared a look of confusion. If the ghost came to the box then he had to be seen, because while a spector, he did have a form. And they all tried to make Natasha understand this, but she merely scowled at them like a teacher at naughty schoolgirls. "That's just it, stupids. The ghost is not seen, and he has no form - especially not something so ridiculous as a masked skeleton. All your stories about changing faces and tuxedos on ghosts is nonsense. You will only ever hear him when he is in the box. Coulson knows, because he's never seen, only heard, and Coulson knows because he is the one who gives the ghost his program!"

Maria cut in then, "Natasha, you're beginning to frighten them".

The redhead scowled even harder, if that could be possible for a young girl. "Then they shouldn't have been so damn determined to hear my secrets. If Coulson learns about this... But I know I am right, and I know Hammer has no business spreading around his rumors about business that doesn't concern him - it will bring us all horrible fates. Coulson said so to me just last night".

Then a shrill ringing cut through the silence Natasha's confession had left in it's wake, and the sillier of the girls jumped and screamed. Pepper, however, turned bright red before fishing down the front of her costume and pulling out a phone. Maria looked darkly at the girl - how stupid could the girl get, having her phone not only on her during a performance, but turned on with sound as well! Pepper sheepishly avoided that gaze, instead answering the phone.

"Mother?", Pepper questioned into the phone before a voice began to chatter away. "Slow down. What's the matter?"

More indiscernible chatter, then, "What of him?"

Suddenly Pepper's eyes flew wide open, and she seemed left rather speechless. After another long moment where everyone wanted to clamor for answers, Pepper hung up the phone, clutching it tightly in her hand like a lifeline as she looked into the confused faces of the other dancers and Maria. Without further prompting, she whispered, "Just Hammer is dead".

Later, M. Fury will make claims that this event - this death - was a natural occurance. Even though a man was found hanging at the end of a rope in one of the lower basements where he had no right to be, and then that rope later disappeared before the body could be cut down - even then, Fury himself gives the simple explanation that the superstitions of the crew and performers led them to take all possible precautions against the evil eye.

As if anyone could ever reasonably picture a gaggle of teenage girls scrambling down old stairs and narrow ladders to divide the rope of a suicidal man amongst them. And all in less time than it would take to write it down! If, instead, you can consider where the body was found - the third cellar beneath the stage - and that it might not be a suicide at all, it seems more like to me that somebody must have instead been determined in seeing that rope disappear after it had served it's purpose. But I may be wrong, and it might not be so ridiculous to believe that children would venture out to cut loose a dead man.

The news that had been shared by Pepper's mother, and now was spread amongst the dancing girls, was swiftly spreading amongst the gossipers of the Opera. And all the while, Maria and Natasha had to gently coax the young ladies out of the dressing room and up the stairs. Making for the foyer like an unsightly herd of timid sheep, they moved as fast as their dancer's legs could carry them.


	3. A New Voice

**And finally our boys show up!**

**Oh, an important note if no one knows - Something wonky happened to this story on AO3, so because I was going to have to repost it anyway, I did some rewriting. It had occurred to me before that maybe modernizing the setting would be fun, so now there's technology in the story! I apologize if people don't like that, but the opportunities provided by Tony the Opera Ghost being able to hack phones and computers were just too awesome to pass up. This hasn't really changed anything story-wise so far, so there shouldn't be any need to reread, but just letting you know for the future.**

**Also, to AnaestheticAsgardian: I'm glad you like and I'm happy to please!**

* * *

After having finally reached the first landing down to the foyer, Maria and her little flock ran up against the stage-manager, Steve Rogers, who was heading up the stairs. While normally calm and friendly, the man seemed almost over-excited.

"I was just coming to check on you all", he said, pushing messy blonde hair back and making quick attempts at finger-combing it. "You should have seen it, Miss Maria! This has been a crazy and magnificent evening. And Loki's performance - amazing!"

"Impossible!", cried out a dancer. It was Peggy again, stepping forward while still half-hiding behind Maria. "Six months ago, he couldn't sing worth a damn, he can't be so good now!"

Steve stared her down, disapproving, as he was actually fond of Loki - they had a sort of grudging friendship where they would complain to the other about some of the Opera's more foolish employees. Peggy merely curtsied saucily before continuing, "Now if you could let us pass, my dear Steven, we just learned of that nasty Hammer's death".

"So you've heard", Steve sighed, any mirth leaving his face and just stoic exhaustion remaining. "And of course you all want to hear more about it".

Eager faces grinned up at Steve, silently imploring, but he shook his head firmly. "You won't be hearing tales from me. If I had my way, you wouldn't know at all".

There was a round of disappointed faces, but it didn't change Steve's mind at all. He stared down at the dancers while Maria watched on, amused. "How did you hear the news anyway?"

No answer was forthcoming, so Maria mimed answering a phone, but didn't indicate who. Steve wanted to throw his hands up in the air in frustration, but it would do no good. It was boggling that the girls was so attached to their phones that they would risk their entire careers for them. He shook it off, instead focusing on making it through the night. "Look, just head down to the gala. The speeches will be starting soon, and you all need to be present for them".

The girls all nodded, put out by Steve's stubbornness, but Maria started to shoo them away. A quick thought occurred to the stage-manager, though, and he turned back to call at the retreating girl, "And shut off your phones! You know how Mr. Farbauti feels about them!"

With that, they all headed into the foyer where multitudes of people were packed in. The stage-manager had been right about this evening, though, in that this was a performance that had no equal. And while all the very best of the Opera had performed, it was Loki Laufeyson's singing that made the night.

And he hadn't even been slated to perform at the gala at all! It was only a sudden illness that knocked out the preferred Tenor, a Clint Barton, and there had been quite a bit of last minute panic before someone had suggested that Loki step up to the microphone. It was really the only option at the time, so it was easily accepted, and the song choice was changed to better reflect Loki's skill as a Leggero Tenor. And so his first performance before a crowd was to Robert le Diable, and he seemed near superhuman during the whole of it. No one could ever conceive of it's like.

Loki was revealed that night at a breed of tenor not known in modern times. He had the makings of a celebrity - with his arrogant demeanor, lascivious nature, and complete sex appeal - but his spectacular voice and inherent elegance would have been comfortably at home in a more classical setting. And with that all at his disposal, Loki was able to bring the house to their feet, drinking in their ovations with a wide smirk. It was only the intervention of his fellow singers and some crew that he made it safely off the stage. They all wanted to speak with, congratulate, or even touch the newest jewel of the Opera. Loki wasn't helping either, too eager to mingle with anyone that caught his attention.

Really, it was a mystery that he had never performed before. It seemed incomprehensible that Farbauti might know about Loki's hidden talent, but only keep him on as a dancer. And that Barton might be ill on what would be the most important night of his whole career, just so Loki could rise up in his place, was rather strange. It set people to talking, but that was not a bad thing for a rising star. His name would be plastered everywhere important by the end of the night.

When Loki had left the stage, Steve was amongst the crowd of crewman all gathered at the wings, applauding loudly and listening to all the frenzy from the audience. As far as being a stage-manager went, Steve was rather young, but he was a good fit for the job. Prior to the Opera, he had been a sailor with the Royal Navy, and the discipline from then had carried over to now. He had started at the basic level amongst the crewmen of the Opera, and had quickly been elevated from there for his hard-work and ability to keep calm under stress. And with also being a traditionally attractive man - he was fair haired with kind eyes like blue boulder opals set above a powerful jaw - and being generally polite and compassionate, he was easily able to win over the management, the patrons, the dancers, and the crew.

On this night, though, Steve was being more than a bit of a show-off. He had brought an old friend to the Opera, even letting him backstage for the sole purpose of proudly displaying the happy niche he had carved out for himself here. And Thor was very good about it all, smiling and truly proud for what his friend had accomplished. Now that Loki's performance had finished, Steve was happy to see that Thor was just as enthusiastic in his praise and appreciation as the rest of the audience. He had never thought that Thor would be a great fan of Opera - Steve was the more artistic half of their friendship - and nothing he had seen from the man while they were in the Navy together had hinted at it. But maybe he had cultivated a taste for it in their years apart, especially as he had just inherited his title of Viscount, and the family lands that came with it.

That was another reason Steve had brought his friend tonight. Thor Odinson - a bright blonde man of large build that fully lived up to his Nordic heritage - had wanted to celebrate with his friends at his ascension into the nobility, and a backstage pass to the Opera was the best gift Steve could provide. And it seemed to be going over extremely well, if Thor's loud clapping and overly-eager expression could be relied upon; Loki's awe-inspiring performance came with perfect timing. Then Thor turned to him with enthusiasm.

"You have to get me to see that performer", Thor demanded, his usual boisterousness having him nearly bouncing on his heels. "I- He is- I've never heard anything like him before, and I just need to see him!"

Steve was more than a bit surprised at how invested Thor seemed to be - and he would love to ask why, though it probably wasn't his business - but he knew that Loki would revel in how he had reduced a _Viscount_ to something very near to speechlessness just with his voice. "Well if you are going to practically worship him, then I don't see why not. I'm sure he'll love it".

"I'm sure he will", was Thor's reply, but it was so quiet, Steve wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it.

With Thor following, the stage-manager headed out of the wings and into backstage proper, deftly moving through the crew as they worked and scrambled about. The workers sometimes called out at Steve with questions or crude comments, but he waved them off with a smile. There was only one problem that was brought to him in the few minutes it took to reach the back hallways, but it was unimportant, and Steve brushed that off too, especially as Thor began to fidget and shift around impatiently, damn near tearing up the program he was clutching tightly.

But for all that he was seeping tension, Thor never made demands of Steve, or tried to rush him along. It made the stage-manager wonder if Thor was just as nervous about meeting with Loki as he was desperate to, and though he was becoming more sure that there was something he wasn't seeing, he still didn't press. They did get held up at the doorway to the private areas, however, as it seemed that Loki's startling success had many patrons flocking to the dressing rooms, though they shouldn't really be there at all. But with the chaos and massive preparations necessary for the gala, the backstage security seemed to be slipping.

So Steve let Thor take the lead, and the Viscount had no problem shoving his way through the masses of people. There were a few who looked as if they wanted to start a fight, but only a glance at Thor's physique shut them up - no one was quite that stupid. It wasn't long, then, that the two men had forced their way into the hallways of the private areas, which were much less crowded, though patrons were milling about, looking uselessly around for Loki's dressing room.

Thor set out at a rushed pace now, leading though he obviously had no idea as to what direction he should head. Steve had to change Thor's path at several times, but the Viscount just charged forward as desperate and boisterous as ever. And eventually they did reach Loki's rooms, where a small crowd had gathered.

The patrons that had flocked here where all being loud, trying to demand entrance to see Loki, and Steve sighed. The singer had surely locked himself inside and wouldn't come out while so many were gathered around, but that didn't discourage his new admirers. And he had somehow convinced one of the young pages to fend off the worst of the group. James Rhodes, who was the son of one of Steve's stage-hands, was bravely standing before the crowd, refusing to let anyone even try the doorknob. The poor boy was getting no thanks for his work, however, as the several of the patrons were turning aggressive in reaching their goal.

Seeing that this could easily turn into a problem, Steve elbowed his way to James's side. The boy looked instantly relieved to see a familiar face - and one who could take control of a rapidly declining situation. Thor helped too, and between the two former Navy men, they easily herded the crowd away. Other employees helped too, until only Steve and Thor were left with James in front of Loki's rooms.

The young teenager looked relieved, leaning back against the wall before smiling up at Steve. "Thanks boss. Thought they were gonna jump me if I didn't let them in".

Sighing, Steve glanced curiously at James, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Mr. Rising Star snagged me when I was running messages around. He threatened to feed me to Barton's harpies if I let anyone disrupt him while he was in his rooms, but I didn't realize it was going to get this crazy", James complained.

Steve laughed, and Thor chuckled too, before the stage-manager released the boy to attend to his neglected duties. "Make sure you attend the speeches", he called out at the quickly disappearing page.

But when he turned back to Thor, the Viscount was already disappearing into Loki's dressing rooms. Steve thought briefly about following, but it seemed to him that there was more to this sudden infatuation than he knew, and that his presence would be unwelcome by both Thor and Loki should this really be a private matter. So instead, Steve decided to follow after James and make sure the boy was really heading to lobby as he should, leaving his friend and the tenor to their own devices.

Meanwhile, Thor had entered into the dressing room to find it empty. At first he was confused, but he noticed another door in the far corner, half-obscured by a wardrobe - which was really the only furniture in the room, reinforcing that Loki had only been a dancer before tonight. However, when Thor tried the inner door, he found it locked tight.

Taking a deep breath to calm a sudden rush of nervousness, Thor raised a hand to knock, listening carefully for a response. But then he dropped his hand.

There was a voice coming from the room - a voice that was lighter and more round than Loki's sharp tones. This voice, speaking in an almost masterful tone, was soft but not unintelligible, "Loki, why are you behaving like this!"

And then there was Loki's voice replying, sound exhausted and roughened, but Thor couldn't tell if it was from singing before or emotions now. "I'm acting as I always do! Yet you accuse me of something sinister after I have sang for you - only for you!"

Thor pressed his hand to the paneled wall; he wanted to pound down the door and scream at someone who would dare to berate Loki. But he stopped himself, not wanting to be caught intruding - eavesdropping like a small child. Instead, he just listened with an ear to the door.

The other man was speaking again, "I know. I just... It doesn't matter. Are you tired, mia voce?"

"Oh, of course not", Loki replied haughtily, though there was still some quavering tension in his voice that was only intensifying. "I only gave my voice and soul over to you tonight, but that's really nothing. I'm not dead, after all".

"Such precious things you've given me", replied the dark man - or that's how Thor began to think of him. "I could never repay you for them. But I will treasure them and guard them more fiercely than gifts in an Emperor's vault".

After that, Thor heard nothing from the room, so he stepped away. He was angry at the what he had just witnessed - it seemed apparent now that Loki was being mistreated, and he hated the dark man for it. Now, he need only wait for the man to show himself, and Thor could put a face to that voice.

But astonishingly, when the door opened, Loki appeared alone. With eyes downcast, he remained oblivious to Thor's presence in the room as he shut the door, not locking it. It was only when Loki reached the outer door that Thor spoke up and made himself known, stepping toward the lanky tenor. "Loki".

Dark hair flew about wildly for a moment as Loki's head snapped up, eyes narrowed in annoyance at the person who would trespass on his own rooms. But when he saw Thor - saw and recognized him - aventurine-green eyes widened with a mixture of emotions that could be shock, or were perhaps better described as horror. Thor - unsure how to react and just moving on an instinct to help - stepped farther forward to lend some aid. But Loki fled away from him, stumbling backwards to avoid any contact and leaving a very confused Viscount behind.

"Loki, what's wrong?"

Thor's inquiry seemed to wash away the terror with deep-burning anger. It bubbled up from Loki in a harsh laugh, one that ripped at his already worn throat. "What's wrong? What's _wrong_, Thor? What's wrong is that you are here! After everything I've done to build a new life for myself here - in this Opera - you have come to finally ruin it!"

Confusion deepening, Thor tried to calm the other man. "I have come with no further intentions than that I have missed you, Brother".

"I am no brother of yours, you great fool!"

"I know that you left us, Loki, but would you also deny your family?"

"You are wrong, Viscount, on both parts. I did not leave, nor am I family. I never have been".

"What is this? You refute your own actions?", Thor questioned, moving forward again. An unwise move certainly, for he had cornered Loki, however unintentional that might have been. "Father said-"

"And because your father said it then it must be true?"

"He was _our _father and-"

"No, he was your father. He was no more a relation to me than any stranger in this city, but you would not know – as I did not know for most of my life – because that man was nothing more than a liar, and your answers only confirm what I learned so long ago!"

"What is it you believe then, Loki? Why do you make such claims against a dead man?"

"Because that dead man ruined my life and my memories in one swift blow!" Loki cried, shoving his way past Thor's bulk to flee the room. Too stunned by the outburst and Loki's confusing accusations, Thor didn't follow, allowing Loki to escape down the corridor and into the depths of the Opera.

When the passage was deserted and the silence grew too oppressive, Thor made it his goal to gather more information about this from the man hiding in Loki's room. Surely, if they were as close as it appeared, Thor could learn the reason's behind Loki's outburst. He crossed to the door, opening it and stepping in. He fumbled along the wall for a lightswitch, but not finding it immediately, he began to fumble for his phone, trying to turn it back on as he peered into the darkness.

"I know there's someone here!", he called, standing in the doorway. "Why are you hiding? I just wish to ask you questions, for my brother's sake".

There was only darkness and silence, with just the sound of Thor's own breathing. At least, that's what he thought, but from the dark, there seemed to be a whisper barely heard, "I don't believe he feels the brotherly love".

Startled and angered, Thor exclaimed, "Show yourself, bastard! Who are you to say such things of my family!"

And then his phone finally turned on, and Thor turned the light to shine through the room, but it was empty! So, shutting the door behind him, he found the lightswitch further down the wall, lighting up the room. Then he searched as thoroughly as he dared without disturbing too many things. He opened the cupboards, went into the closet, hunted through the wardrobe, and even felt along the walls with his hands. But there was nothing to find.

Thinking himself either crazy or blind, Thor set out to find Steve. But he hadn't been paying any attention earlier, and so he was left to wander almost aimlessly through the empty hallways of the Opera's private areas. Eventually, he came upon a stairway that looked familiar, and he descended. As he reached the landing, however, he met with a small group of men ascending from the lower levels.

The men carried a stretcher between them, a white sheet draped over it. They paused before him, and one man grunted at Thor, "Mind getting the door, bub".

Nodding, he mechanically stepped forward and held open the door, questioning as they stepped forward, "What's that?"

A different workman answered, "_That_ is Justin Hammer. Some kid found him hanging down in one of the cellars behind a farmhouse set".

Not knowing what else to say, Thor quietly dipped his head in a sign of respect, falling into step behind them as they all went out.


End file.
